Kind Men Tell No Tales
by SevenRenny
Summary: "They can think what they want," Izuku had told her just before he'd gone to Europe for an educational Heroics convention. The convention he failed to show up to. "They're missing out on a wonderful person." She never thought human affection could be craved for so badly. He never thought he'd beg this hard for the comforting touch and kiss of the one he dreamed of the most.


_Notes: Aged-up characters, experimental writing_

_Warnings: Medical operations, medical torture, forced medical treatment, non-consensual drug use, paralysis, brief sexual descriptions, nudity, anxiety, kidnapping _

**Kind Men Tell No Tales**

**SevenRenny**

Proofreaders:

**Itzy**

**Deadliest Sin Bin **(Izuocha Discord)/ **Nutso** (AO3)

**Ls**

Izuku knew what it felt like to be hypnotized.

His body numb. His mind whirling. Seconds of panic he had to fight with himself. The fear of not having his body. The fear of someone else in the driver's seat. Screaming but not being heard. Fear of the awaited pain his own body would inflict on him. Fear of being the only one in his mind, caged, calling: _I'm here. I can't move – _and being ignored.

Touch. See. Hear. Speak.

Be free.

Maybe that was too big of a demand. Start small. Maybe…memories of those senses? He still had a mind. Bits of his mind. A mother's kiss. The warmth of blankets. The smell of new books. The taste of beloved lips. Perfume mixed with sweat and smoke. Heat and wet skin. What did she sound like? He couldn't remember. What did she look like? She was…a ghost. There but not there. He could remember feeling her there, with him. He failed to construct a visual of her. If only he could, then maybe he wouldn't be so alone in his head.

Alone in the light.

…

Flashes.

They blinded him.

One after another. Lights that stabbed his eyeballs like katanas. He blinked hard, seeing pink and green stars. The rest of the audience clapped like a roaring river. The stage he stood on was a lowered circle that vibrated. The seats for the audience were elevated U shapes around him, surrounding him, trapping him.

The microphone that kept amplifying his awkward mess-ups and every time he cleared his throat or swallowed did little to ease his anxiety. He wasn't sure how far or close to hold the thing. He even managed to make it squeal one time by accident. His translator had a mic clipped to his collar so he didn't have to step forward. The host said something he couldn't understand. His translator motioned for him to step aside. Izuku sighed as soon as he got away from the microphone.

"You did good," his translator said in Japanese. Gerald Naughton. Intelligent, multilingual, greasy-haired, and into polka dot ties. He wasn't sure what the man's nationality was. He said he had a home in Belgium, but he spoke fluent French, English, Japanese, and even German with a Hero who flew in from Berlin. Izuku had a feeling the man knew a few more words he wished to know.

"I don't know about that," Izuku felt his heart still thrumming under his costume. He'd practiced that speech constantly since receiving the invitation only to end up paraphrasing 50% of it and editing the rest on stage. He hopped his sweat didn't show through. Tomorrow's papers would be all about his sweaty pits. Those cameras don't miss. They got every wrinkle and hair and odd smudges he wished weren't where they were.

He took his place at the back, with the curtains against his back and the other national Heroes to his left. He couldn't name familiar people in the crowd. Then again, European celebrities weren't his area of expertise. The host gestured to the row of Heroes and the audience cheered.

Gerald leaned closer to his ear. "Alright. You'll need to show off soon," he whispered.

Oh. That, he could do. He waved at the crowd and they cheered louder, but he locked confident eyes with his trusted translator and nodded at him. "Thanks. Let me know when."

He had to rely on this man. Not knowing the language of the country made him feel isolated. He was in his own bubble a lot since landing in Paris. Disconnected. He knew no one and no one knew him. Deku was well known in Japan; not so much in Europe. Maybe new his name, but not how he looked. Talking or reading labels didn't help him much here. Mr. Naughton was his guide for the event. Without him, he would've lost his way long ago.

There was a mechanical buzzing and the stage he stood on vibrated. Stage lights moved away from the participants representing their countries and instead zeroed on the center of the stage. The floor opened like elevator doors. An elephant-sized robot was lifted out of the hole in an excruciatingly slow manner on a flat platform. Only then did the buzzing stop.

It was all in good fun. Just for show. They just needed him to be present for the convention. It was more about spreading knowledge for international Heroes and students in heroics departments as well as giving opportunities to answer questions by those unsure of their career paths; but Izuku learned Heroes were also half celebrities, unfortunately. Here, hardly anyone knew who he was, but everyone wanted photos. Maybe it wasn't about the city. Maybe it was about him being two people. Back home, people knew Izuku was Deku. He'd order food and the waiter would tell him how he was his biggest fan. Here, they didn't. Out of costume, he was just some guy getting off the metro or crossing the road. In costume, maybe a number would recognize him. Well, those who peeked at the news.

"You're next," his translator told him after a Hero destroyed the second robot.

The rubble was taken down the same way it came up. It was replaced by a new robot for the next Hero to destroy. The audience cheered for the destruction. They sure loved mayhem. Bakugo was missing out.

Green sparks sizzling over his limbs, Izuku ran at the mechanical beast, hopped, and like a bullet, pierced into that metallic chest. He disappeared. The robot's one eye turned left and right, searching for where its target had gone. Its body jolted, almost falling forward. Another jolt. A bump had formed on its chest plat. A jolt, an electric buzz, then a flurry of metallic clunks and clangs, like a ping-pong gaining speed inside the robot's frame, creating bumps with every hit. A green ball popped out of the robot's back. The robot collapsed while the man landed like a graceful cat.

The crowd loved a good show.

…

He really was just a guy when in a suit.

"I'd say you did very well," Mr. Naughton said. He took another sip of red wine. He'd taken him to the nearby hotel where their luggage was stored in the upper floors. In the meantime, the translator had suggested they relax for the day. It was a four-day event and students from various schools would start dropping by on the second day.

The downstairs restaurant played soft jazz from the speakers. The small performance stage at the front was empty for now. Blood-red dresses blended with the blood-red carpet. Izuku swirled the wine in his glass, intrigued by its rim than its potential taste.

"You don't look thrilled," the bald man said matter-of-factly.

Izuku snapped out of his trance. "What?" He stopped moving the glass.

"Nothing. You look like you're thinking of something. Hope it's not about the menu."

The menu was half English, half French; so was the waiter. Izuku knew a bit of English, and almost no French despite having a French-speaker as a classmate. There were foods he'd never heard of and prices for meals he considered outrageous for single servings.

Izuku cracked a tiny smile. "It's not the menu."

"Homesick? I know I am."

"I… don't know. Maybe?"

"It's just four days," Gerald said. "Then you can hop on that plane and off home you go." He pulled out his phone, texted quickly, then stuffed his phone back into his back pocket. "Today was the easy bit. Tomorrow should be the real deal. How are you with kids? Heard you're good with them. Shouldn't be too hard."

Izuku slumped over the table, crossing his arms over his mouth to hide himself.

"No?" Gerald asked, surprised. "I don't believe you. It can't be the toddlers. Those love you. Teenagers?"

Izuku lifted his hand and fluttered it in a so-so gesture.

Gerald hissed sympathetically. "I don't blame you. I taught middle to high-school kids for some time. They sucked out my sanity. No rush now. School buses should stop early morning. Think the college visit is after two. I'll need to talk with Ms. Trizna on that." He went back to thumbing his phone. "So," he continued while still looking down at his phone. "What _about_ teenagers, exactly? Mature children or childish adults or both?"

"Not that, specifically," Izuku admitted. "It's…a school trip for them but, not…everyone wants to be there."

"You're saying you don't like it being forced?"

Izuku finally sipped his wine. "Not everyone is going to like being there."

Gerald sighed and pocketed his phone again. "_Here's a trip you never wanted and a man you don't even know. You better have fun – bye! _Sounds like typical school to me. Not much you can do. Relax."

"Hmm…" Izuku finished his glass of wine with one last gulp.

"You're awfully depressing today." The man lifted the wine bottle.

Izuku let him refill his glass.

"Can't just be teenagers. Family problems?"

"No, not really," Izuku said.

"Married?"

"Ah…umm…No?"

Gerald chuckled. "Am I getting warmer? No 'I'm not married' or no 'I have no marriage problems'?"

"Uhhh…first one," Izuku picked.

"Okay. Girlfriend, then?"

"Yes."

"I love this game." The man chuckled. "Alright, so girlfriend, and you took your time answering that marriage bit. Am I right to guess you're headed for marriage? Or thinking about it at least? Or did she bring it up?"

"My mom asked," Izuku admitted, sighing. "It got me thinking."

"Well, think all you like. Just don't let the thoughts eat you. I need you alive these few days."

Izuku chuckled. "Yeah…yeah. Okay."

The white man wasn't convinced. "Tell you what: I'll show you around Paris tonight. I know a few corner stores that need more attention. Get some fresh air. You might even find something for your dear."

…

Finally in his hotel room, he took off his tie and shoes and unbuttoned the front of his suit to breathe freely. He only used the lights above the bed. Sliding over his bag from the empty side of the bed, he slipped out his laptop and logged on to the hotel's internet. He sat on his side and waited for the online call to go through. A dancing phone was the loading screen.

A minute in, he yawned. Going from Musutafu to Paris with a few stops for transit in-between, his eyelids didn't like the sudden time change. _1:11 AM_ – it said on the corner. He hadn't altered it to fit Paris, which was around 6 PM or so. It was only for four days. Another minute in and no answer. She had probably gone to bed. He should've checked the time before pressing _Call_.

The laptop made a wacky bubble popping sound. The screen turned pixilated, mostly grey and slow moving.

"_Izuku!" _she greeted happily. _"Hey, how– it go?" _The sound was faster than her lip movement.

"Did you stay up?" he asked worryingly, noticing the black clothes she usually wore to bed. "I didn't realize how late it was. I'm sorry – I shouldn't have called this late."

"_Oh, no, I just couldn't sleep," _she assured him._ "My shift ended –arly today buuut I had nothing to do. Everyone's busy or out of town. –catch up on shows and kinda lost track of time."_

Izuku laughed and propped his cheek on his palm.

"_So tell me,"_ she insisted, hopeful.

"It went well. I can't tell if I got stage fright again. Can't remember. It was all a blur."

"_I'm sure you did fine," _she said.

He snorted. He was never good at it. Years ago, that day he got elected as class president and had to stand in front of so many eyes, he knew he wasn't good at it. Well, not when the speech wasn't from heart.

"Hey, I think I can see the Eiffel Tower from my window. Well, part of it. My room's high up. I'll send you a picture before I head out again. They have stores I wanna check."

"_Are you going to go there sometime?" _The tower, she meant.

"I'm…not sure." He wasn't exactly here on a vacation. It didn't feel right. "Maybe another time? Do you want to come here together next time?"

"_Izuku, are you asking me on a date?"_ she teased.

"If you're okay with it," he said nervously.

"_I'd love to."_

"Ochaco?"

"_Yeah?"_

"Go to sleep, please."

She giggled. _"Okay, okay. I will. I promise."_

"Good night. Love you."

"_Love you."_

Neither of them clicked off. Both waited for the other to leave the call first. They both laughed nervously.

"_Okay–"_

"Umm…"

"_Okay, bye now."_

"Goodbye."

Finally, he willed himself to click the red button to end the call. That was harder than it should've been. Moving the laptop aside, he set his phone alarm to wake him up in an hour. He searched for the international multi-plug adaptor to charge his electronics. Hugging a pillow close, he slept in his open suit; feeling like the bed was too big for him. The pillow didn't have a particular smell that could ease the anxiety. It was fabric. Just fabric for anyone to use.

…

She couldn't sleep; that was true. She wasn't sure why. There was a tingling unease at the back of her mind she couldn't shake off. Under the covers, she hugged his pillow. It still had his scent. There was nothing to worry about. Nothing at all. So why the alarm bells in her head? She was looking for something to do, surely.

Work had been abrupt but short. Her morning patrol shift had been cut short. Assault with Quirk Activation. As someone experienced with takedowns, she had the two assailants cuffed and apprehended without getting a hit on herself. After filing papers and handing them for police documents, she was told to go home for the day unless an emergency called for her.

And that was the extent of her day. If she didn't work, then she was wasting time, and the more she thought about it, the more time she wasted.

What did people do if they didn't work? Go out with friends? They were working, too. She wasn't even sure if she and Izuku were doing the whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing right. She didn't tell him, but she saw the video of his speech on television. He'd frozen twice. Not bad. However, his words were soulless, dead at the core. He didn't believe his own words, or he just didn't want to be there.

Which bugged her. He loved his work. He loved being a Hero.

And he wasn't there doing that; he wasn't saving people. He was there and most of the background was obscured by company logos and Heroes from here and there and lots of clapping, but not much heroic work.

Hopefully, he'd achieve more in the coming days.

She'd have to pick him up from the airport after his trip. She imagined he'd be tired but glad to be home.

His pillow didn't have his warmth. It was fine. His scent was still there to pull at memories. His chest against her back, his arms around her waist – his breath tickling her neck. The scent was enough for now.

For now.

…

His travel friend did know the city's narrow paths. He made them take the route behind the hotel, where, after some walking, they passed a sex store, graffiti walls where Izuku had to stop to appreciate the work of talented artists, and a few small restaurants with little to no people at the tables. A number of stores had their shutters down.

"Nothing interests you?" Gerald asked, leading the way. "At least get an umbrella. You'll thank me later."

Izuku zipped up his jacket and patted the bulge of his pocket. "It's fine. I've got one."

"How small is that?"

He chuckled lightly. "It's folded."

"Can't fool me. I've seen folded umbrellas. They don't get that small."

"Here, look," Izuku said, pulling out the water bottle-shaped umbrella from his pocket.

"No – now you see here – that's having deep pockets right there."

His Uravity jacket did come with deep pockets and zippers to keep items from falling out. He couldn't zip one up with the umbrella in, though. The top half stuck out.

"Come on. I think there's a few stores here you'll like."

Izuku was suspicious, but whatever it was going to be, he planned to have a look at it, at least. The man was kind enough. It would be rude to not have a look at whatever he had in mind.

Turned out, the store was just up Izuku's alley. On the other side of the showcase glass were mannequin heads with helmets, headphones, and oversized bat ears, stacks of goggles on the side, boots, and other support items. Price stickers, company names, and the English label _LICENSED _all stuck to the glass.

"Eye catching, isn't it?" The translator pushed the heavy door open and greeted the person at the counter in French. "Have a look around," he said, then switched to Japanese, the language he only used to talk with Izuku. "Not the highest quality I'm sure you're used to. Cheap but available. I figured you'd find it interesting."

Cheaply made, cheaply priced, asymmetrical shoes, thin plastics, belt clasps that jiggled loosely: street-level products, and Izuku wanted to see them all. A few items had touch screens nearby to look at the company's galleries and history. He and Gerald visited another similar store. The lights were getting turned off, strangely enough; Gerald knew the brothers running the place and they seemingly forgot they were closing. A few clicks from a remote and the lights turned back on while the shutters by the windows continued to go down. The man had connections. He left him to explore the inside. The mind of a Hero nerd needed nourishment. This was a pleasant treat.

"Midoriya, he says he knows who you are," Gerald said, pointing a thumb at one of the younger brothers.

Izuku suddenly forgot about the treasure around him.

"Deku," the short young man said excitedly.

"Yeah." Izuku nodded, laughing bashfully.

He spoke mostly English, thinking Izuku was more likely to understand that than French. It was a good direction. Izuku knew a few words, translated them, rearranged them manually in his head and stuck to the topic. He couldn't reply in English, though, and had Gerald flip his short Japanese to longer English. The young man spoke of Japan and UA and All Might's career. The more they talked the more passionate on the topic they became. The younger brother held out a pen and notepad questioningly. Izuku understood what he was asking of him and gladly scribbled an autograph.

He hadn't realized the older brother leaving through the door behind the counter. He came back, pushing the door open with his back, balancing a tray with teacups.

Flattered, Izuku's waved his hands erratically in front of him. "Ah – thank you! There's no need for that – I'm just a customer! It's very kind of you!" he stammered, his words being worthless.

"I'm a friend of the family," Gerald said. "They're delighted to know who my client is."

He smiled bashfully, too embarrassed for words.

The younger brother spoke in English, _"You're one of my favorites. You're a kind man."_

Izuku understood that.

His translator chuckled. "Your face tells me you got that."

Izuku sipped his tea as a distraction.

…

He wasn't sure how long they talked or where his chair had come from. It was a good thing he was sitting down. One hour of sleep proved not to be enough. He slumped over the counter and yawned for the hundredth time.

"–doriya? Midoriya?"

"Hmm? I'm sorry, what was that?" He pulled his eyelids open with difficulty.

Gerald laughed. "You're fine. He asked about your hands."

"_Your first Sports Festival,"_ the younger brother specified, still using simple English for his sake.

Izuku unconsciously pushed his sleeve back to check his mismatched fingers. His wrist looked unusually far. "Yeah…back then… I had trouble with my Quirk back then."

"I admit, that looked odd. Like your body wasn't used to it," Gerald pointed out. "Quirk counselors didn't help?"

"Counselors?"

"Yes. You never got counseling?"

"Uh, I…" For a moment, he was on a rocking boat. Gravity lifted and he couldn't feel his own weight. The chair was still there, so he wasn't actually flying. Just dizziness, he told himself. Extra saliva kept clogging the back of his throat. Swallow and his mouth decided it got too dry and squeezed out more moisture. "I uh…my Quirk didn't…didn't activate when I was a kid…" Throat muscles clenched on their own accord. "Doctor said it needed a trigger. I'm sorry, do you have a bathroom I can use?" Get up. Start getting up…maybe... maybe wash up by one of the fountains. He just had to get up.

"Easy, easy. You're looking sick, there." Gerald steadied him by the elbow. "Hold on."

Color lines blurred. The world went black for a split second. It could've simply been him blinking and failing to open his eyes. The painful prickling in his heart said otherwise. Alarmed, he forced his knees to lift him off the chair. Something made a clicking sound when he stood on wobbly legs. He hadn't realized he had the tips of his fingers pressing at the edge of his tea plate until it was too late. The thing tipped and threw the teacup off the counter. It shattered and painted a hand-shaped spill over the floor with leftover tea.

"Sorry – I'm so sorry! I'll – I can clean it up. Do you–" He gasped for air, lungs suddenly failing him. "Do you have a rag? I can–"

"Midoriya, calm down. Please breathe." The translator held him up and pushed him to walk forward.

The younger brother held the short counter door open while the older brother came to hang the Hero's arm over his neck and guide him behind the counter. _"It's alright. There's a bathroom back there. Do you need water?"_

English was too hard for his brain.

His thigh muscles were giving up on him. Were his feet always this hard to coordinate? He hadn't realized how short he was compared to the three men in the room. Even the youngest towered over him. Their words went in one ear and out the other. They were noises at this point. Noises, like that door slamming or that electrical buzzing. The floor was cold. When had he sunk to his knees?

"Can you stand, Midoriya?" – The words suddenly sounded complicated. What was he doing here again? Where _was_ here? _Why_ was he here? Something about his hands…his hands looked too far away. Were his arms always this long?

The room turned sideways. The side of his head hit the floor.

"You're a kind man, Midoriya"

Shoes uncomfortably close to his face. The floor was cold. His muscles wanted sleep.

"You're a kind man. Too kind."

He never did get to sleep earlier. He would've liked to be in bed, under covers with his head over a soft pillow and sides wrapped by familiar arms. Where were his nights of laughing at something stupid before bed? Or tucking his forehead to the back of a loved one or tugging at the blanket then pausing at resistance from the other end.

The cold floor was not what he wanted.

…

She and Izuku had moved into this apartment not long after he had moved from Sidekick to Hero. It had been his home first, then she moved in. It took her two years and a half longer to move up the career ladder. Rescue Heroes tended to blur in the background, overshadowed by flashy Combat Heroes.

It shouldn't bother her to always be behind. The salary kept coming. She had her license and did what she wanted to do. But then, there was Deku, giving it his hundred-and-ten percent and not showing signs of stopping anytime soon. Out of his Hero costume, he'd have groceries and start stacking the fridge, or they'd sit down to watch one-third of a film and half of another, or she'd pick up on his pre-shaved face every time with accidental or purposeful touches.

But then he'd strap up in green and Deku was miles away. It was a race she wasn't built for.

She was angry at herself than anything. It was one bad feeling reeling in another. A tiny fish eaten by a bigger fish, eaten by a bigger fish and it kept going. She didn't like feeling… behind… again. She was behind in their school days; behind the women who'd taken interest in him and had the guts to say it out loud before her; and behind on good-qualities-to-have. Her brain said _'do my best'_ but her achievement results said '_bare minimum'. _She was either lazy, or not good enough to be better.

She wanted to be better, but then… was it selfish to demand improvement? Or was this all just an excuse to gain what she feared might take over her? Was she getting sucked into this – this _greed_ of having more and wanting more but wanting more because it wasn't enough for what she imagined her parents having?

Izuku was, in many ways, a noble person. Selfless, kind, forgiving. As articles online, commentators and drifting words said: he deserved better.

She wasn't high on the general Hero popularity list, though higher on the Rescue popularity list. Her hard work on that list was brushed off, blaming it on her ties to Deku instead. No matter how hard she worked, how many times she bled and cracked bones and lost her breath, she was never enough and would never be enough. The first few times featured in a magazine as Uravity was more focused on her costume design than anything. Her excitement had turned to humiliation.

She was so low her costume had more value.

"_They can think what they want,"_ Izuku had told her, his gloved hand on her cheek._ "They're missing out on a wonderful person."_

…

Removing the truck's gravity, she grabbed the edge of the roof and inched it up, just enough to expose the door. The sinkhole had swallowed the front of the vehicle – with the truck's nose down and its long butt sticking in the air. EMTs had to abandon their ambulances that couldn't get past closed traffic and had brought over whatever necessary mobile equipment to assist the closest Rescue Hero, stretching out white sheets on the ground and plopping down the heavy-ended flag to establish the area as a temporary base. They were also risking their lives being too close to the multiple sinkholes the Villain had formed in the road. A massive collapse was being held back by other Heroes either locking parts of the ground in place, time-freezing other parts, molding sand in-between cracks or just freezing areas temporarily for the sake of drivers still in the middle of all the mess.

Helicopters stirred debris. Getting dirt in her eyes, she couldn't relieve the discomfort using her dusty hands. Blinking didn't do much other than mix hard dirt beneath her lids. Shaking her head, she went back to work, enduring the discomfort.

The driver's door was high enough to see but not open. The brown hole in the middle of the black street was a tight gap and the truck's front had struck a pipe on its way down, turning the bottom into a muddy puddle. Through the dusty and cracked window, the driver was palming at his bloody face, occasionally slapping the window in an attempt to flee this enclosed trap, leaving cherry handprints on the window.

"Please, don't move," she instructed. "Help's here. Are your legs free?"

"Get me out–" he panicked.

"I will. I have to move your car back. Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"I don't know."

She tilted the car so the door of the driver's seat wouldn't hit the walls if she tried to open it. It didn't pop open as easily as she'd hoped. The surface of what was once a smooth car was wrinkled like a potato chip bag. She cracked it open and reached to unbuckle his seatbelt. Other than his bloody face (a result from possibly breaking his nose and cutting his head) and glittery glass from the windshield sprinkled in his hair and the folds of his shirt, she deemed it was safe enough to weightlessly move him, trying to not move his head or neck.

Between saving people and going after the runaway crook, there were enough hands to net one person but not enough to gather every heart to make sure they all kept beating. Police relied on cadaver dogs to find hearts that did not beat. Ambulances couldn't decide which emergency to take in first. Even after the villains get apprehended, the mess they usually left behind affected everything. Everyone. Police lights and orange traffic cones and dead streetlamps; all wrapped up with _CAUTION_ tape.

And yet, this was the norm.

If she wasn't out there, she wouldn't have taken note of how high Villain crime rates were. Numbers and charts were only numbers. Numbers didn't accurately portray the bloody damage. She'd come home to the safety of a common apartment complex after showering at the agency then wonder: was it possible to truly be safe? Home was safe. It wasn't for many. Parks were safe. The kiddie park where kids went missing was not. Hospitals; one got blown up last month, not long after that, another was under scrutiny for the abnormally high number of patient deaths.

Sore, she opted for simple rice, egg and vegetables and that bottled juice from a vending machine. The television mocked her easy meal as soon as she turned it on, flashing commercials singing about fancy food with brightly lit backgrounds. Over the years, she began using the television less and favoring the computer more.

She wasn't sure when Izuku would be done for the day. Getting home around 8 pm, all she wanted to do was sleep. But thoughts of what tomorrow could be made her fear the bed. Would tomorrow be like today? What about after tomorrow? Bland food and electrical noise at home, followed by a stroll around town to showcase the Hero on duty, then running on anxiety for the rest of the day until being forced to return to the agency to fill up reports before going home.

She never thought human affection could be craved for so badly.

Things were easier when it wasn't just her; someone to share words that meant everything because they were there. Being seven hours in the future, and him in the past, the time gap was a hurdler she couldn't accept as easily as distance. Opening her laptop on the coffee table in front of the useless television screen, she saw the 1 in a red dot at the corner of her screen. Putting her small dinner aside, she moved the cursor past the galaxy background and went to open the video call shortcut.

The green dot that signaled his presence was grey. Offline. Of course, it was still daytime where he was. Possibly still noon. He'd left her a message from yesterday on the chat corner. Sent at 2:12 AM from the last time they interacted. A picture taken from his open hotel window. Building roofs blocked the tower's lower half and the tall structure looked tiny from afar.

It was there, though. He was that far away from her.

She sent a simple heart emoji, letting him know she saw it.

She expected a text or a missed call in the morning. There was nothing. She'd assumed he didn't want to wake her up if she were sleeping. It wasn't until she sat down for a quick breakfast with her iPhone propped up to catch up on the recorded French events did she start panicking.

_Japan's Hero absent from teaching conference_

A picture from the event showcased all the attendees on stage, behind that long table with each Hero's country flag hanging at the front. The seat behind the national flag of Japan – a flag her eyes were familiar with – was empty.

He never showed up.

Switching to video-sharing platforms, she looked for any recording of the event. They were either in parts or full hour-long videos with the speaker's name in the title. She clicked on a number of them.

He was missing in each and every one.

It was possible he involved himself in heroic work that just happened to be nearby. But then, he never said anything about it in his messages. Call him internationally? Maybe she was overreacting. Her gut told her otherwise. What if he did pick up and nothing was wrong? What was she calling for? Say 'hi'? Accidentally called him by habit?

_We're sorry, the number you have dialed is not connected. Please check the number and try again._

He… had his phone turned off… That was all.

He had it turned off. And missed the conference meeting. And possibly didn't get to use his laptop for some time.

She was overthinking it. But better be safe than regret it later.

Apatite lost, she wrapped up her breakfast leftovers and hurriedly messed with the dresser, pushing Izuku's clothes aside to get to her own clothes. Flipping open the laptop, she went through the settings to send an alert to her phone if any new messages came through. She went to his message box and typed a simple message: _Izuku. _She sent the same message through a texting app on her phone and turned on the notifications. Any response would be enough.

She hardly called in sick. Maybe during winter or after sensitive injuries.

She kept her main Hero bodysuit beneath her casual clothes in case she was needed. The police department was familiar with most Heroes of their area. Seeing Uravity in half casual wear so early in the morning wasn't anything to turn heads over.

"Uravity," said the officer she saw often but didn't know his name. "They sent you this time for the report?" he joked.

"Actually, I'm here for something else."

His smile fell instantly. He took note of the odd timing of her visit. "What happened?"

…

He woke to his jaw being forced open.

Whatever the thing in his mouth was, it was jabbing the back of his gums with painful force. The movements were erratic; human. An involuntary groan escaped his throat. Moving his head turned out impossible. Straps framed his forehead in place.

It was awfully cold.

It hurt to open his eyes. It was like the sun was ten times closer than normal, yet, it had no heat. None at all, despite the large circle of light just over his head. The hard operating table he was strapped down to was cold against his back. Someone had stripped him.

People – possibly two to three – spoke in a language he didn't understand. He recognized one voice. It was by his head, talking just by his face. A _click_ and the sun turned off, revealing the blurry image of the surgical lighthead attached to the ceiling.

A looping tube was tapped to his exposed arm with what he assumed was an IV into him. Straps and, to his shock, steel claps held down his limbs. The blanket he was given started from his waist and ended at his knees. It was there to simply hide his genitals.

Gerald was the man by his head. He looked nothing like Gerald, wearing a surgical mask, blue scrubs, a thin cap in his head, and the slippery gloves holding cotton tips.

Izuku wanted answers. More than that, he wanted to _get up_.

He couldn't move. His muscles remind slack. The most he managed was clench his stiff abdomen. Nothing was working. He couldn't even lift a finger. His jaw was still held open and the new Gerald ran the cotton tip over the inside of his cheek. The man was doing as he pleased.

'_You're a kind man, Midoriya.'_

This was wrong.

All wrong.

_Let me out!_

The end of the mouth opener looked like the handle seen on scissors. He hadn't realized the shape due to how close it was. It seemed too blurry. It wasn't until Gerald grabbed the handle and Izuku felt the contraption in his mouth widen. His panic spiked. His mouth couldn't open wider, but Gerald kept going like Izuku's mouth was a stubborn can that wouldn't open. _Stop stop stopstopstop_ –_ you'll break it – stop!_

Another hand grabbed the handle to lock it in position. Izuku didn't recognize this person. The scrubs covered the person's feature.

He couldn't understand what Gerald's instructions were to his assistant. He was unfamiliar with the language.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted a transparent tube.

Izuku lifted his eyes to glare at Gerald, hoping for an explanation to everything; or, at the very least, a comment he could decipher.

Instead, the tube's tip went down his throat.

…

"Wait?" Ochaco asked the person behind the desk.

"That's right. A request for a National Missing Persons report has been sent. It's up to the French police force now."

"The police?"

"Yes. Police handle cases such as this. Heroes already have their hands full."

And unless someone in the investigation department had a Quirk license, the search would be conducted the old-fashioned way. She was handed back the file she'd meticulously organized with Izuku's information after calling every number she knew her boyfriend had connections to. None of his UA classmates knew about his disappearing act. His mother sounded concerned over the phone when her son didn't appear for the lecture on TV, or the next lecture or the next. _"It's not like him. He didn't call me yesterday, either," _had been Inko's words.

By calling their friends from school, Ochaco had unintentionally put everyone on edge.

"_He's not responding?"_

"_No, he hasn't texted me. Last time was before he left for France."_

"_I tried calling him. Says his phone's off or something like that."_

"_You sure he didn't get drunk somewhere?"_

"_I've looked it up. He's missed every lecture yesterday. This isn't something I'd picture of Midoriya. Being late, perhaps, but it doesn't seem like he made any contact throughout the day."_

And so on. Her phone kept buzzing every now and then, but no text came from Izuku.

Someone knocked on the door. Detective Tsukauchi came in with permission wearing plain clothes with his tan coat draped over an arm. "Ah, Uravity. I was informed of the basics. I can take it from here." He took the empty seat by Ochaco's. "I've called a person who might help us out and I've gotten my partner to send a message to the event organizers. It's too early for any feedback at the moment."

_Wait_: was what he meant. "Detective," Ochaco said. "Can't I go look for him myself?"

He gave her a reassuring smile. "Had a feeling you'd say that. Just please keep the investigation team updated. They'll need to know everything, including each location you've been to. Have copies of everything from the file. Make sure your translator is with you at all times."

Ochaco was already standing up, wanting to hurry and get her tickets and check booking dates. "Where'll I find a translator to leave early?"

"He should be on his way. When I said I called him, I should correct myself on that. _He_ called _us_."

She stood still like an idiot. "Who's… he?"

…

"Mademoiselle, I knew you'd come to me for assistance!" the twinkling Hero said, throwing his cap behind him for dramatic effect. "Fear not. Yours truly knows the ins and outs of our destination."

Ochaco wanted to point out he was the one to insist on being part of the investigation. "Thanks for coming, Aoyama. Sorry if I freaked you all out." She had other matters to attend to. Her overseas visits had always been to see her parents in the US. She never had reasons to visit Europe. Asking for vacation felt like abandoning her position and everyone who depended on her.

"Non, non", Yuga Aoyama said, wiggling a finger disapprovingly. "Do not blame the aching heart, mademoiselle. Distant Love is hard enough as is."

"Umm… thank… you?" She wasn't sure how to respond. She was more concerned with navigating the airport and passing checkpoints. "Don't you wanna change clothes? Will they let you on in that?" She pointed at him, referring to everything he wore, which happened to be his Hero costume.

"Nonsense! Of course, they'd let me through. Why… who would turn down the Twinkling Hero?" he almost dared.

The airline ground staff would, apparently. "Sir, you can't have that on." The woman handed him back the paper he'd presented to her. "This only covers the need for the belt. Please put the rest in a separate bag."

Yuga stood still. Even though his triangle smile was still in place, his hardly—contained meltdown was showing through every twitch of eyelid or corner of a lip. "I… will be right back. Excuse me."

"I'll wait for you over there, kay?" She pointed at the rows of uncomfortable-looking seats. She wasn't ready to lose this man at the airport. They still had two hours, but it was a risk she wouldn't take. She'd originally assumed Yuga was a person who didn't listen much. Perhaps he listened too well but kept to himself. It was hard to tell where his thoughts were most of the time. He brought quite a few bags; a number that told he didn't pack necessities only. He even took out his sleeping hat and night face mask and slept with them on during the second stage of the two-part flight right after the stop for transit in Shanghai.

She couldn't sleep. Not with how loud the laughter at the back was. It was like having peacocks yelling just a few seats away. A family sat in separated seats and their kids would go back and forth to talk to one person or ask for a snack or just see what the other sibling was up to. It amazed her how Yuga managed to sleep so fast and blow a snot bubble with all the commotion around. Her seat would jerk at random times, and when she peeked between the seats, expecting a child, she was met with the angry glare of an old lady. _Never mind._ She sat back. It wasn't worth it.

Yuga was a talker once they landed. He'd had a good night's sleep somehow and took charge of leading the way. She was suddenly grateful to have him around. The taxi ride had been a blurry memory. It was morning in Paris and she hadn't slept a wink. Her body didn't agree with this sort of time travel. Her bags had been left on the floor, just in front of her hotel bed.

She would've continued sleeping if Yuga hadn't knocked on the door. _"Ooooh Uraraka mademoiselle," _he called from the other side of the door. _"You don't want to miss breakfast. I advise you stay away from the orange juice. It was dreadful."_

…

They had x-rayed his feet.

He couldn't remember going under the lights in order for them to take that. But he recognized that black paper they clipped onto the screen of the lightbox. From the blurry corner of his eye, a representation of his bone structure was in grey and white swirls over black background.

It was hard to think with a tube down his throat. The jabbing sensation along the inside of his esophagus was a type of assault he never imagined possible. The blanket hiding whatever dignity he had turned out very useless. It didn't protect him from what he assumed was a urinary catheter. The fact that he couldn't move for whatever reason made him fear every sound. Metallic clicks. Crinkling plastic. Squeaking table wheels. The cluttering of trays. He'd heard of bodies with no minds. A mind with no body was a different form of death. Able to partially see, partially think, and body forever still.

Meat on the table to be poked, prodded, played with.

He slept a lot. Frequently went in and out. Forcefully put to sleep, he suspected. A suspicion he had no way to prove; not when he wasn't sure which parts of his mind were active and which parts were dormant.

A memory would slip by if he was left alone with just his eyeballs looking up at the spaceship-looking disk with many lights.

Delivering a Villain to police.

Sharing a chocolate cake with a dollop of ice cream on the side.

Stacking the dresser with clothing fresh from the dry cleaners.

Propping his ill, faceless girlfriend up in bed to spoon-feed her. Her laughing at something on his head.

His own hands came up to add a headband with rabbit ears on her head. On his side, having her squeeze medication into his infected ear. Confetti poppers violently coughing shiny raindrops.

What was that one for? A birthday? One of the holidays he began to be part of after going into high school? A wedding? Was he married? The subject sounded eerily familiar. Recent. Had he married not long ago? Was his girlfriend actually his wife?

Chocolates in a red box; from his hands to hers. Fireworks popped in the distance. Colors flashed by a window. Dancing awkwardly in formal dress and suit with other people blurred in the background. A room with just her and him with her arms wrapped around his neck so she could bring his face down for a kiss. Her whispering 'Izuku' and giggling when his hands sliding down her side tickled her by accident.

Izuku. He remembered. That was his name. When had he even forgotten?

How much had he forgotten?

His mind wasn't trustworthy anymore.

…

A team was already waiting for them with news at the police station where Detective Tsukauchi had instructed her to arrive at. They had a Japanese translator set and ready. She was the main translator for the investigators while Yuga was Ochaco's translator and, sometimes, commentator. She'd been nervous Yuga might mistranslate or exaggerate or add in his own few words when translating for her. However, he was polite enough to leave quiet poses between starting a translation and finishing it.

A Maria Trizna from the conference organizers had confirmed through email Deku and his translator failed to show themselves for over forty-eight hours. Neither had answered her calls or emails. Security failed to locate them. A call to the hotel confirmed they hadn't returned and their luggage had been abandoned in their rooms. No forced entry. Surveillance showed Gerald Naughton – Izuku's translator – knock on the door shortly before Izuku willingly left with him his room in a Uravity jacket. Outside cameras picked up on their trail, going behind the hotel, unfortunately.

She got to see how his hotel room was left. The door was blocked with retractable stanchion to keep staff out. Room service cleaning products of fruity lemon from who-knows-when lingered. His smaller bag was on the dresser shelf next to the bathroom and his travel luggage tucked at the corner by the ironing board. The tiny Eiffel tower out the window sat unmoving, continuing to age with time. The sky was a brighter blue than the picture he'd sent.

The picture he'd sent through…

"His laptop…" Ochaco whispered.

From memory, she knew he had stuffed it in the largest compartment of his smaller bag. "Aoyama," she called.

He stopped looking at himself in the mirror. "Oui?"

"He used to use Skeypy. Ask them: 'can I use Izuku's laptop'?"." She hoped for a _yes_. She wasn't allowed to actually grab it, but the detective followed her instructions and, with gloved hands, he pulled the device out himself. The loading screen switched to blank blue with the command: _ENTER PASSWORD_

Izuku used to check his emails before bed. The memory of his hand going this way and that. She vaguely remembered _AM_ and _hero_ and symbols and a _1_ in there. Reconstructing her boyfriend's password proved mentally difficult. She was trying to crack her own boyfriend's code and that, in itself, made her feel like a Villain. With trial and error, time ticking and the investigator possibly losing faith in her after repeatedly going over keys she spelled out and being denied access, one combo in a random order suddenly resulted in a loading screen.

No one realized what had happened. Even the investigator looked surprised, originally predicting she would continue to guess wrong and they'd have to take it to someone else.

"Well done," the European translator told her in Japanese.

His desktop had lots of files in an attempt to keep it organized. Ochaco pointed at the screen, where the icon of a phone had a red dot, signaling unread messages. "Can you go here, please?"

He did.

Izuku's display picture was what looked like a picture of him in his casual clothes, facing away. It was that one picture she took of him without him realizing it until it was sent to him. She really did like that picture. The grown man had the looked of a confused puppy.

Red alert spots dotted his contacts list: unread messages. There was her icon with a red dot on the corner; her last message to him. A message he never got to read. Tenya had a few messages sent to him.

_Midoriya_

_I hope your trip has been pleasant and informative so far._

_Please let me know if you have a problem and need assistance._

The last one was after she'd phoned him asking for info on his whereabouts.

His mother asked for him in text form.

_I hope today wasn't too much for you. Remember to eat well Okay? Goodnight._

_Izuku Baby? Did something happen?_

_Call me when you can okay?_

Eijiru's icon was below Inko's:

_Midoriya everything okay over there?_

_Uraraka and your mom been asking about you_

Shoto had also texted: _Are you okay?_

And the list of worried friends went on. The investigator went for the contacts with no red dots. Already read messages.

Naughton. That sounded familiar.

_Good morning. I hope you slept fine. You may head down for breakfast. I'll give you a call when we need to head off. Just be ready._

He wrote of the hotel room, event hours, conference room locations and advice to prepare papers. No sign of any abnormal texts.

"Who is that?" Ochaco asked.

"His translator," said the other translator who came with the police.

There wasn't much to use here. The longer they took, the more anxious she became. Her eyes traveled down, spotting the timer. 5:17 PM. Still set to Musutafu hours. Paris was far behind. Seven hours behind.

"Ah, Paris," Yuga said, admiring the view out the window. "Beautiful yet misunderstood. Ever heard of Paris Syndrome? Look for roses and you find the slums. A victim of its own existence. Such a sad outcome for the city of love."

She and the investigation team stared at him blankly. The investigator in front of the laptop looked at his translator, expecting an explanation. The woman simply shrugged.

Ochaco jumped out of her skin when her phone rang. Tenya was calling.

"_Uraraka. I know you must be busy. I needed to quickly inform you there has been activity on Midoriya's messenger. It seems he has read my message but for some reason could not reply."_

Ochaco sighed, relieved and disappointed at the same time. "That was me, Iida. We found his laptop."

"…_Ah. I see. I assume you haven't located him" _he sounded disappointed.

She sighed. "No."

"_And have you made progress? I've been covering more areas recently; however, I'd fly over if things get dire."_

"Cameras saw him. We'll ask around and hope... someone…" Her eyes went back to the time. She used to focus on the clock on her laptop back home. He'd messaged her so late, and yet, she would've stayed up to talk more if given an opportunity...

Talk more… what had his exact words been that night?

She gestured to her icon on the screen. "Hey, can you check mine for a minute? I need to see something."

What had his last lines been? Picture of a tower, then–

–_costume stores I wanna check._

The phone was still on, but it slowly lowered from her ear. Tenya's distorted voice kept calling her in vain. Voice of memory struck.

"A store," she proclaimed. "He said something about seeing a store."

They knew a few. Multiple nearby.

…

Chubby pigeons crowded pathways in clusters. The circle would casually split to avoid shoes. Beggars were harder to bypass. Cigarette butts littered the pavement. Grey snakes trailed up from still smoking cigarettes between fingers. Family-owned restaurants lead to national shops; shops led to graffiti walls; doodled-on walls led to more shops.

They speed-walked and stopped to show photos of Izuku and Gerald.

Some shook their heads no. Some said they weren't sure; they didn't memorize faces of tourists. Some thought they saw them after Ochaco showed them a picture of her jacket merchandise. They got a positive answer from a Hero costume store owner in a tight alleyway where turned-off lamps were old-fashioned and stuck to the walls. She mostly owned Germany-made items that Izuku had looked at a day or so ago.

"He and the man walked out without buying anything," Yuga translated to her.

One of the investigators and translator went to the back to check the surveillance in the store. She led Yuga to the nearest similar store. Izuku was sure to have explored more. Whether he had intended to buy something or just check the place out, it seemed likely he would look into a similar store.

"Bonjour!" Yuga sang upon dramatically throwing open the entrance door.

Four eyes blinked at them in confusion, caught off guard. The one behind the counter casually responded back. The younger one held a packaged bodysuit, still wondering what had disturbed the calm atmosphere. He squinted at her for seconds, then broke into an excited smile. "Uravity?" He pointed at her with the packaged _for-sale_ item in hand.

He'd recognized her in her half casual clothes with the black legs of her bodysuit stretching down her short pants. Stunned, all she said was an unsure "Yes?" in her native language.

Good enough for him. His face shone with delight and he quickly hung the package to greet her with words she couldn't understand. He almost grabbed her hands before redirecting himself, pretending to scratch the back of his neck instead.

His friendliness was mostly weirdness. There was a shred of… something… there. Not Deku awkwardness. Mannequin awkwardness. Limbs moved and wiggled but shoulders stayed stiff.

"And it is I!" Yuga butted in. "Yours truly!"

The young store owner stared at him, blinking, unsure. A pointless "Uhhh…" slipped out.

Yuga tried again in English in hope of getting even the slightest recognition. "Can't Stop Twinkling, the Shining Hero!" He opened his arms wide as if to say _'ta-da! Surprise!'_

The young man stared, then did a tiny shake of decline with his head.

"No?" Yuga asked.

"_Sorry, no," _he replied in English.

"Not a little?"

He shook his head again.

Defeated, Yuga slumped and slowly walked out of the way. The young man suddenly remembered something and began patting himself. Finding a notepad in his back pocket, he flipped it open and continued until he stopped to show her a familiar signature.

She subconsciously stepped forward, wishing to hold it. "His… It's his. You saw him? You saw Deku?"

He nodded, even though it was unclear if he understood Japanese.

"Can I know if something happened? Do you know where he went?" she threw one question after another.

He chuckled and said something in English she didn't understand. She turned to Yuga for help.

"He's offering we sit down," Yuga said, already taking a seat in front of the counter and propping his cheeks in his hands like a child waiting to hear a story. "Don't mind if I do."

The older man in the shop came out of the back door with a tea set. She hadn't realized he'd left in the first place. Yuga didn't hesitate to take a cup and sip.

"Ah, Green Tea. Mariage Frères?"

The man nodded emotionlessly, fixing the teapot to face away from Yuga.

Yuga said something in French, leaving Ochaco in the dark. Being between three other speakers, and waiting too long for Yuga to fill her in only after she asked him was frustrating. The older one held out a cup of tea for her. _"You don't see Uravity often."_

She only picked up on her Hero name. That, in itself, was unusual. She wasn't a popular Hero in Japan. She didn't think she'd get recognized in another land. Taking the cup, she got tidbits of information.

Concerning information. _Deku_ came in with a _Gerald, _the translator. They looked at stuff and chatted until Deku started feeling sick and asked to leave.

The sound of this street's vehicles and mix of speech in the outside world blurred out. The air conditioner hummed sickly, clicking, rattling.

"He was sick?" she asked Yuga worriedly, putting her half-full cup down and forgetting about it.

Yuga had switched from carefree to concern. "Oh dear… He says Midoriya was complaining of nausea." He asked him something else, receiving quick answers in return. "Mr. Naughton escorted him out."

Izuku showed signs of sickness? "Can you ask him if they said where they were off to?" Had he been taken to a hospital? She wished that were the case.

The younger boy shook his head sadly in denial in response to Yuga's question. The rattling of the air conditioner abruptly stopped. The death of the cooling system left the room empty of voices.

Until a thud hit the door.

"Uravity," one of the investigators, the larger one, shoved the door open.

At that second, she remembered Detective Tsukauchi's words: _"–please keep the investigation team updated… everything, including each location you've been to."_

Had she been allowed to leave… slip out of their sights, even if it was just the store next door? "I'm sorry!" she said immediately, standing up to bow out of habit. "I'm so sorry. I thought – I said I was going to the next one – I didn't mean to worry everyone."

The investigator with wide shoulders waved his hands at her to calm down, sighing.

The older store owner pulled out his phone and, while talking, gestured for the younger to follow through the backdoor, behind the counter. The younger said something before disappearing into the other room.

"He said he'll be back soon?" Yuga kept blinking at the door.

Alarmed, the hulking investigator shoved Yuga to the side and sped-walked to flip open the counter door and reach for the backroom one. He knocked roughly a few times. No answer. He shoved his way in. This didn't look good. Silence after he went through. It didn't sound good. Her body had moved on its own accord – the need to check what she'd missed.

The room was ten percent kitchen, ten percent bathroom, and eighty percent storage. Shelves against every wall were full of boxes and plastic bags and rubber-banded capes and cobwebs stuck to every corner. An empty used office chair with stuffing sticking out of holes. Trays, one next to another, filled to the brim with smaller items: at the top, grappling hooks and a transparent tub of colorful balls, and a belt hand from the side, threatening to spill out.

But no men.

They'd both vanished. No doors; yet, no men.

The two had vanished.

…

"_Can you help me with the back?" she asked him, turning around to show the V-shaped opening on her dress and the line of her bra._

_He stopped buttoning up the golden buttons of his dark green suit. "Sure. Do you need me to do the clasp, too?" He pinched the tiny zipper pull and slid it up, careful not to break it. The triangle was so small, he had to focus or it'll snag the extra fabric on the sides._

"_If you can. Thanks. Want me to do your tie?"_

_With one hand fiddling with his cuffs, he chuckled meekly. "If it's not too much trouble."_

"_I gotcha."_

_His tie always looked too short when he did it. She'd fixed it for him and everyone had noticed. 'Okay, who tied that for you?' – They'd ask, because he couldn't tie a tie if his life depended on it._

(A memory or a fantasy of his numb mind? Oh well. This was nice. He could stay for a while)

_He stuffed a tiny notepad and pen in his front pocket. He'd use those eventually. He fretted over his hair in the mirror over the dresser._

"_You look fine, silly," she told him while strapping on her fingerless gloves. "I'm the one who'll probably stick out."_

"_Why do you say that? That dress looks nice on you." Not 'You look nice in that dress' because she was nice in anything and nothing. It was a miracle how he finally got to talk to her normally. The first few times she put on a dress or tried on new clothes or had rabbit ears to participate in a pet adoption event he was a stuttering mess of a human being. 'Hi, nervous, I'm Ochaco' had slipped out of him at some point and he had to slap himself and remain quiet for what felt like hours, a desperate attempt to avoid slip-ups. Avoid awkwardness with a blanket of more awkwardness. He was lucky she was so patient._

"_I didn't think it would be so…" She flexed her fingers in her combat gloves. "Formal."_

"_I like it." He held her hands. "It's more like the Uravity I know."_

_She blushed and looked away. "Aww, stop it!" Flustered, she waved her hands at him, still embarrassed by straightforward compliment._

_The guards scanned their cards for authenticity. It was bright. Too bright. The light intensity alone gave him anxiety. Everyone was too fancy, from the way they dressed to the way they walked and talked and laughed and chose appropriate facial expressions. He wasn't ready for this._

(He was pretending, now that he thought of it. Pretending to be okay when uncomfortable. Uncomfortable was bad manners.)

_The piano player was invisible. The sound was of an actual piano and not a recording. It was hard to know where everything was with how everyone moved about liked they knew where this person and that person was. The light bounced off every surface from jewelry, chandeliers, giant fountain in the middle, sculptures of dancing people and oh boy was it all hard on the eyes. The ceiling had a golden ring with paintings in the center. His eyes didn't know where to look, so he glanced at her regularly for life authenticity. The sound of her knee-high boots clicking was minimized under the blanket of steps and conversations and echo-y piano. She spotted someone, because she waved her hand wildly above her head and grabbed his hand to drag him over._

(Familiarity. That was comforting. He knew comfort. That was good. He still had a brain left. Even if faces were blurs and strangers were outlines. A blur wasn't nothing. An outline was something.)

_She wrapped her arms around his neck and looked up, beaming, blushing, giggling like a child she hardly was. She pushed him back with her chest like a drunk. They weren't even dancing, just standing silly and nuzzling faces and looking ridiculous._

_He preferred and performed better when alone with her. He liked the sole connection between them. He liked not worrying over what was appropriate to please the audience. He liked it more when he got to hug her, just her, in bed, feel her skin vibrate when she laughed._

(If this was fake, he didn't want what was real.)

…

They'd called in help to look into hospitals in case the 'he was sick' story wasn't fabricated, as well as reinforcements to secure the area. To her relief, one of their Search and Rescue team with a Hero license was called in. They were suddenly taking this more seriously. Maybe it was because the media was suddenly outside.

With everything going on in the small store, Ochaco tackled another problem: her inability to focus. Her stomach churned angrily. People shuffled about in this tiny space, careful not to knock on-sale items and failing at it. She was lost in the whole mess, ignored in the background. Useless like she'd always been.

"Aoyama, what's… what are they talking about?" A strand of knowledge. Anything to get involved.

He didn't answer her. In fact, he was sleeping with his head on the counter. Unusual time for a nap. Not the best time at all. Someone was shaking his limp body by the shoulder, trying to wake him up with no results.

Her neck felt weak, too weak to the point it became difficult to hold her head up. There were people blocking the path to that weird storage room. Did they find Izuku there? Was that why they worried over there? Why weren't they filling her in? She wanted answers. She had to go over and check.

"Uravity, are you with me?" a familiar yet not so familiar woman asked. There was a hint of an accent – it was not her first language. Oh. That was the other translator. "Uravity."

"Did they find him?" she asked the first thing which came to mind.

"Uravity, did you and Mr. Aoyama have tea?"

Tea? Yes, she drank tea. Did he like tea? What was the aim of the question? How regularly did he drink tea? She hardly knew much of him. She answered for herself, "I like tea."

"I mean, did you have tea recently? In this building." the woman asked more specifically. "Did you use those cups?"

Recently… recently… Oh, yes. "They gave us tea."

"Can you tell me how you feel? Any dizziness? Fatigue?"

"Just a little bit." – of both. "Did they find him?"

"Uravity, don't get up. Wait for the ambulance."

Get up? But she – oh. She was on the floor. When had she sat down? Why on the floor? There was a perfectly nice chair next to Yuga's. Five minutes later and she had no muscle function left; one more and hooks of fatigue threatened to pull her down.

Was this why the people she saved had trouble answering most of the time? It was tiring, indeed.

…

Immense failure; that was her only thought upon waking up to a bright ceiling and hospital bed. She'd accomplished nothing. She hadn't seen or heard of Izuku. He was a strong man; not much could take him down. The longer he stayed invisible the dimmer her hope became. Grabbing the metal bed frame (and ignoring the drip stuck to her hand) she heaved herself upright. Her muscles ached like a day after hard workouts. Forced body shut down wasn't the same as natural sleep.

Izuku was not weak. He was, however, easily trusting.

"Good afternoon, Mademoiselle," Yuga greeted from the other side of the white curtain, probably still in his own hospital bed.

"They drugged us," Ochaco realized.

"It seems so," he said with disappointment.

"Do you think," she hesitated to say it. "Do you think they drugged Izuku like that?" It would make sense. It was the same store he'd gone into. His signature on that notepad was his. He couldn't fight back if he'd been immobilized. Suddenly, she wished she'd talked with him more on the call that day. Got him to stay awake and skip that walk somehow; continued to play 'goodnight' and never actually end the call.

"It's possible, mon amie. Can never be for certain."

"We need to go. Now! _Excuse me? Hello? Excuse me! _Aoyama, a little help?"

Turned out, trying to leave without answering the doctor's questions meant 'no leaving'. She didn't have time for this. If the police hadn't come for her, she would've stayed even longer. The drive through Paris in the investigator's jet black car was nerve-wracking. Every red light was an insult. The moment the car slowed down, she was ready to bolt out. She eventually did while it was in the process of stopping in front of the now off-limits shop. An ambulance was there, flushing its alarm lights.

She yelled a hurried _'Thank you!'_ while Yuga confused the investigator with a majestic prance out of the vehicle, singing an _'adieu'_ and throwing a salute. A guard stopped her from going in, only letting her through after she showed him her license and ID.

In the hour she slept, it seemed like the police had ripped the walls off in that room. The small kitchen had caution tape separating it from the storage area. Tea set and coffee beans and a jar of white powder out on the counter. People in boots, masks and gloves holding tweezers and transparent plastic bags with cotton swabs inside were the only people allowed to cross the tape. Cameras clicked. Shelves shoved out of place. Too many officers and a black hole in the wall with nothing but stairs cutting down, heading into darkness. A hidden path behind fake wallpaper behind shelves.

Somewhere to hide.

Something important enough to hide.

The investigator walking up to the man-sized hole and gestured for her to come over. Police with flashlights beamed a zigzag of yellow going down the stairs of the tunnel. At the end, a group surrounded a door that – from what she gathered – wouldn't budge. It had multiple tiny dents from either history of use or police brutality. It reminded her of a fridge door: rubber on the edges, unusually wide handle: thin but tall. Three visible locks lined the outside. Who knows how many on the other side. An armored officer smashed at it with a battering ram with no luck.

Yuga strutted over and asked something, which caused the officer to pause and slowly back away.

Yuga performed a hip thrust and a glittery beam zapped out of the middle of his belt, hitting the locks one by one. The leftover locks turned orange bright. The door opened with some difficulty, being the abnormal thickness of a mattress. Soundproof padding blanketed the inner side.

Dread washed over her.

This didn't look right. None of it looked right.

A black tunnel. The light switches were on the left side of the wall with band-aide covering one of the switches, sticking it in place. One flick after another, the investigator lit the long corridor. Old bulbs flickered with electrical buzzing, lighting the way but sounding as annoying as flies overhead. A few lights kept going off and on; threatening to die but holding on.

From afar, a few grey doors lined both opposite sides. Other than the chemical stench and that steel trolley against the right wall, it was empty. Underneath the buzzing, it was deathly quiet.

That wasn't reassuring.

Instinctively, she stepped forward. An arm blocked her path. The officer gestured to her to back up.

"…what?" _Why not? – _was what she meant. The officers blocked the path, guns ready, shoes one after the other, eyes scanning. It was her job to go in. It was her job to risk herself. Why deny her her purpose? She had yet to help one bit. A bystander while her Izuku was still missing. She would've been given full freedom and resources and major support from colleagues who knew her if she were back home. Izuku would've been found Hours ago – days ago. _Let me do what I need to do!_

The sudden squeaking of metal wheels and clutters made the line of officers halt. One side door flipped open, and in the blink of an eye, a metallic body sped out, slammed the opposite wall. It backed up to turn, and began speeding its way down the corridor, aiming for the crowd. A robotic mannequin with a shirt on top and wheels on the bottom. The officers in front of her staggered, caught off guard. In a panic, a few shouted a command that went ignored by the incoming body. Instead, she heard the _SHINTKK – SHINTKK – SHINTKK _of blades spinning from the robotic hands.

The corridor was too tight for the group of people to dodge that incoming catastrophe.

To hell with authority

"Aoyama!" she reached for a high-five. "The wheels!"

He looked confused; looked at her hand, looked up at her. A firm node and he clasped her hand. Floating him, she tossed him over the armed crowd and he surfed the empty space by tucking his arms behind his head and bending backward. She clapped her fingers together as soon as the floor beneath him was clear of people, bringing him down. He slid across the floor on the knee pads she hadn't noticed on him. A purple squirted from his belt, zapping the robot's wheels.

It didn't stop it. Instead, it dropped face-down and skidded toward them. Bits of what used to be the wheel flicked off the walls. The skidding came to a stop by her shoe. It kept mechanically clawing at the floor with sparks flying about for five seconds before stopping, dying instantly. Its head and arms slumped and the winding noise inside it vanished.

Grabbing the shoulder, she flipped it and saw the blank face usually placed in front of viewing windows to display on-sale clothes.

"Uravity Mademoiselle, we have another guest!" Yuga alerted her.

Indeed, one of the doors in the distance opened, and out came wobbling out: a Hero costume with twisted limbs and a cape. No person. Just a flat bodysuit walking, bending backward, then correcting itself only to bend forward because there was nothing inside to keep it stable.

"It's a kind of puppet Quirk," Ochaco realized. She glanced down at the dead mannequin. "Whoever it is, they have a limit."

The bodysuit slapped the floor with its body, looking more like a wrinkly carpet, and began to speed-crawl over like a spider. In no time, it was closer to Yuga and managed to dodge a laser beam by simply folding. It jumped and its neck hole opened like a wide mouth, shooting a cloth net at Yuga's face.

She didn't expect it to do much, but Yuga threw his head back and released a ridiculous moan before dramatically falling on his back.

Annoyed at this time-wasting distraction, she hand chopped it back to the floor and tied it into a struggling ball. An officer pulled off Yuga's face net. His hair stood up in all directions.

"We don't have time for this." She sighed. Someone was trying to keep them busy, which meant they were buying time. "Aoyama, tell them to search every room. Hurry," she commanded and began running. Hurrying was the key. _Don't give them time to think. _Slamming the first door open, she was greeted with an operating room, complete with an empty trolley stretcher and trays full of equipment and hospital cabinet.

Straining her eyes, she spotted a pair of shoes behind the stretcher. The bedframe jolted, the wheels screamed to life, blew white smoke and the stretcher rode across the tiles like an out-of-control car. She jumped out of the room, but after hearing the _BANG_ of the steel bedframe hitting the doorframe on its way out and toward her, she dropped to the floor, letting it pass overhead and bang the wall. Flipping onto her back, she slapped the underneath of the bed and kicked it, sending it up and hitting the ceiling. Someone from the police force uttered a surprised yell. The speedy wheels slowed to a stop, and she knew then whatever Quirk in it had canceled out.

The younger shop owner trembled on shaky legs that failed to get him to stand properly. She pressed his back against the white sink, mumbling something in a language she didn't understand. He threw around words in every language he knew, trying to explain himself to French police and Japanese Heroes when he didn't know any words from the later. He switched to any language in hope she'd understand at least one of them.

English, "they made me – _They told me to_–" followed by unhelpful gibberish.

With no other people in the room, she ran at him. He panicked and tried to scramble away, failing due to weak athleticism. She grabbed him by the wrist and the back of the neck. He slammed the floor belly-flat with a grunt. She held him down with his hand twisted behind his back, pinning him to the cold tails, her fingers gripping the back of his neck.

"Cuff him," she ordered. If no one understood, they were bound to at least realize what they _needed_ to do as police. They did.

All she wanted was her best friend back. Instead, it was spiked tea and secret doors and attack of the mannequins.

The police had him detained and began patting him down.

Yuga called for her from a different room. With this many rooms, she wouldn't have found him if the team of officers hadn't directed her by pointing and hand gestures. The room Yuga was in looked like the fusion of a bathroom and a workshop. The air was moist and smelled of chemicals, a number of buckets on the floor were half-filled with what looked like filthy water. Rusted bolts scattered the floor and around the drain. A line of plastic-covered clothes suspended from a long curtain rod.

Yuga looked at her mournfully with something crinkling in his hand: a thick packaging bag. She took it and immediately recognized the _look_ of the folded item inside. It was Deku's costume, but not his costume at the same time. Someone had bleached it. A few patches were missing, like someone had cut squires out from different parts, but it was most definitely Deku's.

She hadn't been this angry in so long.

She began kicking open doors, one after another, finding mostly empty beds and a few closet rooms. Kick one, find no one, go to the next, repeat, others followed suit. The number of isolated beds was alarming.

Door 018 and the amount of light in this particular room hurt to look through. Nevertheless, she saw them: Izuku and another man in medical gloves; the former naked on the table, the latter holding a syringe with shaky hands.

He aimed it at Izuku's arm.

She didn't give him the chance.

In a second, she crossed the tiles, hold the edge of the bed, hopped over the person she'd been looking for for so long, and kicked the nurse-wannabe in the neck. His body trembled and the needle fell out of his hand, clipping the side of the bed and falling to the floor with a clap. The man with medical facemask stumbled back, hitting the nearby tray and falling to his side. In a panic, he tried to side-crawl away like a crab, only to have a shoe on his back force him flat to the floor.

Perhaps it was the visual of a man in hospital attire standing over Izuku's unmoving body with tubes in his mouth and nose; perhaps it was the man of medicine – a person many looked up to for help – committing undercover operations; or, perhaps, it was the fact that Izuku looked like a dead body on an examination table. Whichever reason it was had her rage bubble and spillover. Kicking away the syringe, she held him down forcefully, almost certain she caused bruises.

"He's lying to you," the man growled. He did speak Japanese. "You have no idea how much he's lied to you. You'll regret ever wanting him, I promise you that. The things he's told. Oh, the things he's said – they're _gold!_"

He wasn't helping himself. He simply wanted to hurt her. He wanted to plant a seed in her head.

It hadn't clicked that man had been Izuku's translator.

Not even when the ambulance took the person she traveled miles to find. The bad man didn't matter. Her mind was elsewhere.

…

The case was all over the news. She understood none of it. She didn't want any of it.

She simmered in the waiting room, hearing people come and go, her hands clasped together.

She should've gone with him on the plane. She should've called him when her gut feeling had told her so. She should've refused to go to sleep and kept him online during that video call.

She should've, but didn't.

And now he was being prodded and searched by doctors.

"He'll be fine, Mademoiselle," Yuga said sympathetically, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Midoriya is a strong man."

She lost sense of time. Waiting. Growing more Impatient. It wasn't until she heard yelling, followed by a rocky _bang_.

One of the yells was Izuku's.

A crash sounded beyond the white double doors, attracting other people in white coats, going back and forth and calling for others.

She'd had enough of doors in her way.

She got up shoved her way through the doors, bypassed distracted nurses, following the sound and ignoring hands that tried to stop her.

"Izuku!" She called for him. this was no different than where they'd found him. "Izuku!"

He'd been in hospitals before, plenty of times. He never screamed like that. He resisted medical help like how she finally found him, surrounded by people in white, none daring to get close.

He stood on bare feet, his back pressing the wall, his pupils shrunken and angry and his mouth agape like a distressed animal showing teeth. His hospital gown barely hung on, possibly open from the back. His veins glowed red, green sparks sizzled.

He'd used his power before, judging by the number of equipment scattered on the floor and staff keeping their distance. One took a step closer and Ochaco heard him.

"_Stop!" _it was a throaty growl. A mix of distress and desperation and fear and – _everything stop._

"Izuku!" she called for him, dodging staff who just realized she was here. She was unsure how long he'd been down in that lab and or what had been done to him. She was, however, sure waking up in another location similar to the one he'd been taken out of didn't settle well with him. _Calmes-vouz, monsieur,'_ and _'Ne fais pas ça,' _were being thrown around. Every stranger was giving him orders he didn't understand. His eyes were daring everywhere, confused and suspicious of everything, before landing on her. His brows furrowed, even more puzzled. She stuck out like a sore thumb.

"Izuku, it's okay, it's a hospital!" she tried to explain. "They want to help!"

He concentrated on her, his back slowly sliding down the wall as his stiff muscles gave out.

She heard someone say 'Uravity'. Maybe they'd listen to her. Please, just please –

"Please, let me talk to him." _Please understand, if not my words, my voice._ _He needs me._

One muscular doctor holding a syringe, instructing his staff to back away. The hands that tried to push her out of the room released her. _Thank you._

Her Izuku looked vulnerable, despite being a well-built man. He had black ring beneath his eyes, as well as band-aid wrap hugging his wrist and up his arm. A bridge of a drip line connected his arm to a fluid bag. The glowing red maps under his skin deemed as she got closer.

"Izuku," she repeated his name, the name she wished to say directly to him.

His jaw slackened, his eyes locking onto her, relief edging but not completely washing over.

"It's okay. They want to help." She kept talking, taking careful steps so as to not scare him more than he already was. "I saw the picture you sent me," she whispered.

His relief slowly trickled.

She touched his cold hand. "Can we go up their sometime?"

And the dam broke. He slid to the ground, clutching her hand, like he didn't believe she was real. He had yet to say anything, but the way he held her hand and melted into her said it all: _I missed you._

…

Her friends had bombarded her phone with calls and texts she couldn't answer. The only one she had time for was to update investigator Tsukauchi. Izuku in the hospital bed took most of her attention. He looked at her with half-lidded eyes, craning his neck to the side as far as the facemask let him, not daring to look away. The facemask mask had multiple tubes sticking out of it and into the ventilator.

She could see questions in those tired eyes.

She had questions of her own, but kept to herself for now. He'd just been pulled out of an underground laboratory. She'd planted quick, grateful kisses on his forehead when he first woke up, dazed, like he'd hibernated for a month. He didn't need questions right now. She'd brush his messy hair back, which made him almost close his eyes. Seeing him like this, subdued, broke her heart.

A knock at the door. A group of familiar and unfamiliar people walked in. Yuga, the other translator, the European investigator, a doctor. There weren't enough seats for everyone, so most stood awkwardly.

"Morning, Deku." The translator did the talking. "Uravity."

"Hey." She didn't have enough mental energy for thick discussion.

"Here to fill you in on everything we've found so far," the translator explained.

Answers; a double-edged sword at the moment. Maybe she was scared to hear what they had to say. She just wanted to take Izuku home.

"I'd give you the report but."

–She wouldn't be able to read it.

"It's okay." All of this wasn't okay. None of this needed to happen. He could've been home right now. He could've done what he had to do and she would have to pick him up from the airport and she'd make him katsudon and they'd go to bed. He didn't need to be like this, here, in a hospital bed.

"The doctor in the hideout was indeed Gerald Naughton," the translator held the report open to read and translate the details provided. "As far as we know, he had mainly collected samples."

"Samples?" she asked. What kind of samples?

The translator asked the investigator something; permission to continue with details, maybe. "DNA. Saliva, hair, blood, tissue, urine."

Ochaco's felt Goosebumps. They'd treated him like a lab rat.

The translator kept going. "As far as we know, Mr. Naughton has no medical license. He had files stored with dates and exact hours and minutes. More than one kind of anesthetic has been administrated, as well as Quirk blockers and what the medical examiner believes is altered muscle relaxants."

He hadn't been able to move. Had he been like that for these past few days? Paralyzed yet still able to see and hear and feel.

The doctor said something to the translator, her hands talking with her.

"She says the drugs in his system will need some time to clear out. He'll need help with basic tasks, like eating and breathing." –and urinating, which she avoided saying. Ochaco had seen the catheter bag under the blanket.

"He had full medical examination reports. Heart rate and nerve examinations, lots of X-rays."

She felt Izuku turn his head to look directly at the translator.

"Why would… why would they do all that?" Ochaco wondered out loud. Kidnapped just for a medical exam?

She waited for the Europeans to exchange words.

"According to Mr. Naughton, Deku is a biological phenomenon."

"I don't…" Was it the fact his Quirk manifested late? She had assumed it was a rare case. Rare but not impossible, right? She'd brushed it off as a teenager, but questioned it as an adult. He'd explained her questions away, albeit nervously. His Quirk demanded a stronger body (or a hormonal change, he'd hypothesized) for it to manifest. She didn't understand, but believed him anyway. It hadn't sounded like a big deal at the time.

Maybe she should've pressed further if mad scientists were after him.

"Mr. Naughton is adamant Deku – Mr. Midoriya – is a case of either a Quirkless individual developing a Quirk, or a Quirked individual who maintains the toe joint missing from most of those who do have Quirks."

Letting this sink in, Ochaco was more angry at the madman who'd treated this human – her friend – like a lab animal on a table, ready to be dissected.

The investigator whispered something to the translator.

"Uravity, we're not here to discuss whether the claims are true or false. We're here to seek justice for those wronged. There were other files in that location. There had been more people."

Had. Not anymore.

…

She acted like his lie wasn't a big deal.

For the few days, she focused more on how he felt at the moment, asking him if he had trouble breathing after the removal of the ventilator, or if he needed help to the bathroom after he regained the ability to lift his limbs and swallow.

"Here," she said optimistically, lowering the bed's railing so she could sit on the edge, holding a bowl of plain hospital soup. She dunked the spoon in, mixing the heat out. "Aoyama asked for something easy for you." There was a juice box on the trey as well.

"Can you lift your hand if you had enough?" she asked, clicking the bottom of the spoon to the bowl's lip to knock away any drips.

He finally talked, his throat not cooperating, raspy. "I'm sorry."

She lowered the spoon, blinking at him sympathetically. "For what?"

"For lying to you," he admitted, his eyes tired, guilty. "I didn't want you to find out like this… I'll tell you everything properly some time. I promise..."

A hot spoon touched his lips. "I don't care, dummy," she said, giving him a reassuring smile. "Knowing you, you must've had a reason to not tell anyone. Don't worry about it."

His eyes were watery. "Ochaco…"

"Can you please eat for me, now?" she playfully begged, lifting the spoon to his lips.

His vision still swimming, he took a mouthful, trying harder than usual to not spill.

She'd help him waddle to the bathroom, dragging the fluid bag holder with one hand and holding his body against her side with the other. She'd brush his messy hair and pull up his hospital blanket.

Aoyama was very helpful, staying when needed but leaving for very short strolls to give them time for themselves. The ability to move progressed within the hour. He sat in bed in his hospital gown most of the time. He seemed lost, like he had too many thoughts in that head if his.

The muted television played French commercials. They steered away from the news. She stayed by his bed, sometimes napping with her back hunched and arms crossed over his bed, only leaving when visiting hours were over, staying a lonely night at her hotel room and coming back early as allowed. She just wanted them both home. She'd sent a message to everyone who'd spammed her phone. _I'm sorry for the late text. Found him. He's awake in the hospital now. I'll tell you more later._ She didn't have the energy to explain the details to each and every person.

"Hey, Ochaco?" Izuku asked, his voice now more recognizable.

"Hmm?" She turned off her phone, in the midst of texting her parents in the US. "Yeah?"

"When did we marry?"

She stared for a while, her brain short-circuiting. "Eh?" she asked dumbly, still not registering what he'd asked.

"I'm sorry, I just…" he struggled, embarrassed to admit he forgot an important event. "I'm having trouble remembering things. I'm sorry. Maybe it'll come to me after we get home?"

"Izuku…" How would she tell him? "We never married." How had he come to that conclusion?

He stayed silent, staring at his blanket, then; "Oh," he sounded disappointed. "Sorry. I assumed…"

He thought they were married the whole time?

"Hey, it's fine. Our neighbors think we're married. I think most of the public thinks we are," she explained, leaning her elbows on the bed.

"Do you… want us to be?" he asked, still looking half-asleep.

She'd been asked this a lot, by her friends and older coworkers. _When are you getting married? 'Has he proposed yet?' _and_ 'What are you waiting for?' _and_ 'Together for five years and no ring?' _They had more important things to worry about. It was optional; their work wasn't. Being at home with each other was enough.

She had, however, thought about it. They'd have rings, and maybe their status would change to being legally married. It didn't add too much to what they already had, but the idea in itself sounded appealing to her somehow. Maybe it was the gesture – the idea of wanting to seal all they had with each other.

Maybe it was the idea of having a sort of normal life, with no blood on their hands and no care of the popularity poll. Just her and him in their tiny apartment, tidying up and having sex and watching television and trying to make sure the other had more blanket on their side.

"I couldn't get it out of my mind. Couldn't get _you_ out of my mind," he said, sighing. "I know this isn't a nice time for this. I'm sorry. We can talk about it later."

She hadn't realized she was blushing by the thought of him putting a ring on her.

"No, I mean yes, but wait! I… I – are we ready for this step? What brought this on? I don't _mind_ being your wife… and… we have been together a while and… it's not like I haven't thought about it…" She kept blabbing out the stored thoughts in her head with no filter.

She caught him staring, pink dusting his cheek.

She put her hands together, keeping her pinkies from touching. "I'm interested," she put it bluntly.

He gave a tired smile. "I'm interested, too." He reached out to her with the hand that had a needle in it. _Can you come closer?_

She did, getting close enough to finally kiss him on the lips, something they hadn't done since he's travel to Paris.

…

Tenya, Todoroki and Yaoyorozu were the first to land in France just to visit him.

Tenya immediately apologized upon seeing Izuku's bedridden condition. He hadn't seen him at his worst, when he was first found, scared and uncontrollable. Now, he was able to walk for a short distance. He did his best during physical therapy, avoiding small obstacles on the ground and holding himself up with railings. She participated when needed, helping him stretch and bend and, eventually, cheering him on through hydrotherapy. They kept the court trial and media coverage tucked away at the back of their minds.

"My deepest apologies," Tenya said, bowing. "If I had known how dire it was I would've accompanied Uraraka through the investigation." They'd tried flying overseas earlier but had their plane delayed.

Izuku waved them off. "Hey, it's okay! I should've been more careful. I'm getting better every day. The doctor says I should be able to leave soon enough."

The list of friends slowly trickled in by the hour and day. Most came in groups. Some bringing him gifts: Hero key chains and statues, and tiny snacks.

…

Gerald Naughton had admitted to two other kidnappings. Normal tourists. He'd had them relocated to a second underground lab through a tunnel system which he'd planned to transport Izuku through. The older brother – seeing no hope left for him – had turned himself in and ratted out his boss.

Izuku's visit had lasted more than expected. She thought he'd want to go home as soon as he was discharged. Instead – he wanted to go on that promised date, up the Eiffel Tower.

"Aren't you tired?" she huffed, climbing the stairs, the option many refused to take. He probably missed doing his rigorous exercises.

He'd jog up the steps, then climb casually to give his thighs a few minutes of none-aggressive labor before jogging again. "Sorry. We can use the elevator," he offered.

"_I_ can keep up; I was talking about you, silly."

He chuckled. "A little bit but I want to keep going."

The second floor had telescopes and shops and restaurants. Snow cones were a good treat for those who climbed the six-hundred steps. The beams of the structure were glowing gold thanks to the many lights around the structure. The sky turned pitch black. The twinkling white lights shimmered on each level like glitter. People from all over the world came here, surrounding them in worldwide languages. She held his hand when it got too crowded and relaxed when they found sports where they could walk around freely a bit farther away from the fenced railing when they'd had enough time to drink in the city lights.

"Over here," he coaxed her back, where there were even fewer people, holding both her hands in a silent gesture that said _'this is important.'_

She giggled. "What's up?" She suspected he had something planned.

Letting go of her hands, he lifted a finger. "One second, please," he whispered the request, his hand digging through his Uravity pocket. The Deku hoodie she wore was manufactured from the same company, so they both had the same pocket size.

He was jittery. Excited but nervous. She'd figured it was because he was finally free. Maybe that was partially the reason. The only time she hadn't gone anywhere with him after finding him had been when he went with the half-Frenchman out on a quest. She started suspecting. Aoyama had bid them good luck before they started going up the tower's stairs.

The luck hadn't been for the journey up.

She saw Izuku pull out a small box from the safety of his zipper pocket.

She had an inkling of what it was.

"… Izuku?"

It was the kind of box given by jewelry stores: small, small enough to fit in his palm, square with rounded corners, soft to the touch. She already knew what it was. Clamping her hands together and squeezing her anxiety through them, she waited with bated breath.

His fingers shook as he held it.

_Now?_ _Here?_ When did he get this? How long had he been thinking about it? When had he had the time?

He took a deep breath to calm himself. "Ochaco," he said, clearing his throat, then looking at her straight in the eye with determination. "You've always been there for me. You gave me so much. You've saved me so many times, more than I can quant. You were my first real friend. You gave my name a new meaning I can be proud of. You're the kindest person I know. You made me so happy. You still make me happy. Can I… can I promise you my life? I – I'd like to be with you! Always."

Getting one his knee had bystanders turning heads. The silver ring sat inside, snuggled between soft padding. Such a tiny thing.

Her voice failed to work. Tears started welling up in her eyes. She didn't think he'd jump right to it this fast. Then again, it was Izuku. He always did find new ways to amaze her.

Surrounded by a sea of people who now had their eyes on them, they both looked ridiculous, wearing their Hero merchandise at the top of a historical building. Someone was holding a phone and recording. Another thing the media would pluck off the internet.

It didn't matter.

"Ochaco, will you marry me?"

It was just the both of them. His words mattered the most to her.

"Yes!"

And hers mattered the most to him.

* * *

_Notes:_

_-Kinda all experimental, really.  
-It turned out a lot longer than I estimated. I'm not happy with a lot of things in this but I also hated how it sat there incomplete for so long.  
-I got to write Aoyama more, which was fun._


End file.
